


Hunted

by juggernaught



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Legendary Pokemon - Freeform, Protective Older Brothers, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggernaught/pseuds/juggernaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al and his younger brother JC are two of the handful of survivors from Littleroot Town, which was devastated from an earlier attack by Rocket runaway Mewtwo and the Legendaries that attempted to stop it. Consequently, Al has sworn to avenge his family and all else that've perished by taking out the Legendaries single-handedly, which only JC can see as stupid as it sounds. Still, he has very little effect when it comes to changing his brother's mind, and he watches Al push himself to the brink of death several times as he attempts to finish off Legendary Pokemon centuries older and wiser than him, incomprehensibly deadlier as well. He has to show Al the light, and he has to do it before Al sees it himself on his way to Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunted

**_Prologue. Lonesome Eternal_ **

_“_ _永遠寂しいです”_

Al was highly aware that what he did for a living (if one could even call his vagabond nature “living”) was highly dangerous, vindictive, and stupid—incredibly so—but he was an edgy person by nature, not one of the better things he’d inherited from his father among his dark looks, height, and penchant for making dumb gambles (which included betting his shoes that it wouldn’t rain the next day—suffice it to say, he stumbled through the downpours and mud barefoot that day), and the need for revenge that he felt was stronger than any emotion that he’d had in his ten-year-old life—well, except for his love for his family.

 

He thought of his family as he sat against the base of a large oak tree, using rocks he picked up to sharpen his father’s old fishing knife. Clair Simon, his mother, was a vivacious and curious person, with wild sandy-blonde hair like a mane and the prettiest grey-green eyes that JC shared; though she worked several shifts at the supermarket and fish market to make ends meet, she was always happy to come home and play with the three of them after a shower. Luke was his brother and older by five years; everyday he’d come home from school to talk about girls, skateboarding, and the newest video games, which he begged their mother to buy. He also looked like their father, Claire’s ex-husband.

 

A distant sound snatched Al from his thoughts; he dropped to his hands and knees, feeling the twigs and rocks of the forest floor scratch against his palms as he moved forward into the large bush, peering through the branches. A silcoon was foraging for berries, thankfully alone and not with a herd. _The black market loves silcoon silk,_ he thought, shifting to a better position. _And it’s a big one too—I could use it to buy extras for JC!_ He waited until it had found the berries it wanted and was eating them off of the ground before lurching from the bush.

 

The fishing knife was small and thin but it was tough to make up for it, slicing through the silcoon’s shell easily and cutting the silk loose, which was when he noticed two things: one, it remained completely motionless even as he hacked at the silk, and two, when he pulled the knife out the blade was warped as if by extreme heat, but those things didn’t truly click until the pokémon, apparently stunned, began glowing and shifting into a larger Pokémon. _Not a silcoon,_ he thought, scrambling backwards. _Definitely not a silcoon._

 

“Dustox,” it growled when the light vanished, flapping its great green wings. He saw the knife wound on its lower body, causing it to drip a clear liquid to the grass. It started beating its wings harder, hard enough to scatter all of the leaves in the area and knock him back a few inches. “Dust…ox!” It created a whirlwind so strong he was sent flying into the air, his heart racing in the seconds he spent above the ground before landing on one of the treetops. He passed through the veneer of leaves, feeling branches scratch at his skin and tear his clothes before he landed on a thicker one some feet from the ground. The impact whacked the air from his lungs and the marrow from what felt like two ribs, and he was very sure he’d have bruises on his stomach in the morning.

 

“Another failure,” he sighed. “And I can’t get Jameson’s medicine…”

 

He waited until the pain subsided before crawling up the branch to the trunk, shimmying down to the grass. White-hot pain surged in his ribcage, most likely from a fracture, and his lungs felt sore on top of that, not to mention the guaranteed bruises he would have. Additionally, there was blood leaking into his t-shirt, and even though it wasn’t a lot he really couldn’t risk infections. He would have to stop by the clinic and he hated that place when the doctor…Alice always asked him what happened, where did he go, where were his parents… It really pissed—no, no, Clair hated cursing—it really made him mad to be asked so many questions, since he couldn’t answer them truthfully lest they discover what he was really doing to the oh-so-cherished pokémon of the world.

 

He made the long walk down the trail to the entrance of Petalburg Woods—it wasn’t all that long, but with his injuries it might as well have been the journey down the River Styx. (He was really good with mythology back in his school’s history class.) He watched Petalburg come into view and sighed, remembering what he had to face as he crossed the well-manicured grass to the pokémon center. The local Nurse Joy, who was rumored to actually have the birth name of Lois, looked at him in interest as he passed her desk. “Al, what’s happened?” she asked worriedly.

 

“Nothing important,” he replied in a clipped tone, not stopping.

 

“Al…”

 

“Chance,” her chansey said, looking over at him from an injured mareep that she was tending to. “Chansey?” He ignored her too, going down the hallway to the trainers’ rooms.

 

“Twelve…thirteen…fourteen,” he muttered when he reached their room, looking at the number. JC had remembered to lock the door, thank Arceus for that, and so Al had to knock and wait. And wait. And wa—well, it wasn’t a good think to rely on a little kid who believed that all the time in the world was cheap enough for pocket change. Finally, the doorknob jiggled as he unlocked the door and it swung open.

 

“You’re late.” JC punctuated the sentence with a runny-nosed sniffle.

 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Al guided JC out of the way so that he could shut the door. “Feeling better?”

 

“No,” he complained, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on the edge of his bed. His blonde hair was messy and completely angular on one side, and together with his outfit of astronomy PJs meant that he’d been sleeping the whole day. He was always a weak kid, and it didn’t help that Al was dragging him to all-Hell day in and day out, so he couldn’t exactly hate JC for getting ill so often. “I want candy.” On the other hand, Al _could_ punish him for his sweet tooth.

 

“It’s one o’clock.”

 

“So?”

 

“Lunch, then candy, Jameson.”

 

“Noooo,” he said, drawing the word out as he crossed his arms. Al was almost mad at him, then he sneezed and got mucus all over his hands.

 

“JC, that’s disgusting.” He went to the bathroom and, taking a washcloth, doused it with water and soap to clean JC’s hands. He was reminded at the worst possible times that JC, while having such a smart mouth, was just five years old, a kid not suited for being dragged around Hoenn on Al’s stupid journey to find himself or whatever the hell he was doing at that point. JC sniffled again as Al scrubbed his hands, then he started fidgeting. “Stop moving so much, JC.”

 

“It hurts,” he whined. Al eased on the pressure and he stilled a bit, making it easier for Al to clean him up. “And my pajamas are hot and itchy,” he continued.

 

“These are your favorites. It’s just because you’re sick.”

 

“Mm,” he complained, unconvinced. He poked JC’s stomach and he giggled, swatting his hand away. Al went at it again, tickling his sides, and JC burst into laughter. “Quit it, Al! Stop!”

 

“I like it when you laugh. It’s cute.”

 

“I’m five—hah-hah—five years old! Not cu-ute!” Al relented, allowing JC to catch his breath, and rested his hand on his head.

 

“You’re cute, and be glad that you are. You’re also a sweet little boy. Don’t ever change, okay? No matter what,” he said seriously. JC couldn’t catch his tone though, and simply grinned at him.

 

“Okay, brother!” He was like that, blindly trusting of anything and everything that Al told him. Al ruffled his hair, mussing it even further.

 

“No worries, m’kay?” JC leaned into his hand, his trust reassuring and painful at the same time.

 

“Okay, Al.” Al passed him to start searching through his travelling duffel, which held the barest essentials: a spare knife well covered with a leather sheath, two jeans and a t-shirt for JC alongside his PJs, Al’s running shoes and one pair of jeans, a hundred dollars give or take, and a skimpy first-aid kid that was getting skimpier every day. He sat on the edge of the bed and took out a can of antiseptic spray and pulled his shirt away. JC stared wide-eyed as he quietly went through the steps of disinfecting, cleaning, and bandaging his injuries. What he understood was trainers, being out in the open with pokémon, often times got injured, sometimes seriously, and as long as Al had a say in it, that was all JC would ever know about what he did. He was moderately surprised as JC put his arms around his neck, even more so when he felt tears running down his shoulder.

 

“Please don’t cry for me, Jameson.”

 

“You always hide from me,” he whispered. “But I see sometimes, and it’s always scarier.” He ran his hand down Al’s side, so gently he barely even felt it, but he knew what JC was seeing—he had seen it himself, every time he looked in a mirror, and every time he saw them he felt a little worse.

 

“Those scars make me strong.”

 

“They look painful. Pain makes me wanna cry.”

 

“You haven’t been through what I have.” He finished pinning the bandages tight enough that they wouldn’t slip, and he stood up slowly as to not drop JC to the ground. He put his shirt on first, then his army surplus jacket, the thick material swallowing him like a cloak. He took out his spare and shoved it through one of his belt loops, hiding it under his aviator’s jacket so that JC couldn’t see.

 

“I’m gonna head into the woods to look around.” JC’s eyes went wide as he began to protest, so Al cut him off: “Why don’t you go to the nursery and play with the baby pokémon?” His eyes sparkled as he gasped in awe.

 

“Really, I can leave the room?” He started coughing again and Al took a concerned step towards him.

 

“Yes, as long as you stay within Lo—I mean, Nurse Joy’s sight. If you start to get really sick, call me,” he said, indicating the worn cellphone he’d purchased for JC in case of emergency. “I’ll rush back in an interdimensional second.”

 

“Interdi-what?”

 

“Like, before you can even blink.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis, at which JC broke out in a fit of giggles.

 

“If you say so, brother.”

 

“And if a stranger tries to talk to you?”

 

“I’m supposed to tell them you’ll be back in a interdi-men-shin-al second, right?”

 

“Ha-ha, right.”

 

“And, uh…uh…”

 

“Stand up straight, look people in the eyes when you speak to them, and always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir.’” He was still in right enough mind to teach JC proper manners, since Clair wasn’t available to do it anyway.

 

“Uh…right!” He made a face before he nodded, which Al recognized as his thinking face. He grabbed JC’s arm when he went to get his clothes.

 

“Oh no, you’re not leaving without telling me what’s up.”

 

“Mm…nothing!” he said loudly, which in his mind equated to truthfully. Al frowned, releasing JC and watching him stumble about as he tried to take off his pants while standing.

 

“Every time you lie, a pokémon out there dies,” he warned. JC cried out as he finally shook off his pants.

 

“Okay… I was watching T.V.” Al waited as JC picked out his jeans and put them on. Patience had become a virtue for him over the years. “…It was that one with the big pidgey that talks about friends and hygiene and you know.” He struggled to take off his shirt, and when he did he struggled to button the one that he put on. “Ugh…”

 

“Here.” Al helped him. “What about the show?”

 

“There was an episode…where the pidgey was talking to these guys in the woods.”

 

“I’m following you.”

 

“They were doing funny things to the pokémon there…and they were killing them.” Death was the only concept that Al refused to explain to JC, but it didn’t matter, as he was a smart enough kid to comprehend it anyway. “And the pidgey said no, but they laughed at him and kept doing it, and the pidgey said that they were mean and bad guys and…I thought that they were evil.” Evil, also, was a concept JC learned by himself.

 

“What are you getting at?” JC backed away, looking deep into his eyes as if he could see into Al’s mind and soul.

 

“You’re like those bad guys,” he said hesitantly, stopping Al in his tracks. His lower lip shook and he looked like he was going to cry, but he pressed on: “You go into the woods a lot…and then you come back all scratched up and stuff…and sometimes you bring these, um, little paper boxes that drip… _Are_ you a bad guy?” There it goes again, a time he absolutely had to lie even though nothing would’ve hurt him more.

 

“I… Well, there are things you still don’t understand, JC. In this world, we have things called _necessary evils._ Like, you eat beef and chicken and pork?” He nodded, hesitant but still eager for some sort of rebuttal. “They were pokémon at some point, but they had to be killed so that we could eat.”

 

“So…you kill pokémon to eat?”

 

“Most of the time, yeah.”

 

“The rest of the time?” he pressed. Oh, how Al wished he was just another kid that swallowed whatever was shoved down his throat, because the way he was asking questions, Al was being very hard-pressed to burst his bubble of cartoons and cotton candy.

 

“Clothes,” he blurted without really thinking. _I can’t be getting good at lying,_ he thought, biting his lip. _That would make me a liar, and I’m not a liar…_

 

“So you don’t do it just to…” He looked at Al expectantly, tears on the precipice, and Al tensed before grasping his shoulder. He then forced out the words that hurt him three times worse than the dustox ever could’ve.

 

“Would I lie to you?”

 

——————

 

JC’s unadulterated trust in Al made him awfully ambivalent, but somehow he kept focus as he trudged down the dirt pathway back to Petalburg Woods, his fist curling around the cloth-wrapped handle of his knife. It was a real knife unlike the other, bought in the black market for a bagful of sceptile seed pods, the metal polished and thin enough to cut through pokémon skin like potato skin. It wasn’t as large, which meant he had to get closer, but this time he had real motivation. He had spent more time than he intended with JC, so when he left the sun had set and JC was sleeping again, his peaceful, problem-free expression burned into Al’s mind.

 

_“Looks like a freak storm,” the paramedic was telling his friend. There were plenty of EMTs and Nurse Joys in Littleroot Town trying to salvage the living while worker pokémon salvaged corpses. The whole town was wrecked, houses and buildings and stores alike reduced to identical piles of charred rubble. Trees had fallen, littering the ground like downed block towers, and there was a huge crater in the northeastern part of the town where the corpses were particularly concentrated._

_“Might’ve been Arceus tryin’ to tell the people somethin’,” his friend replied. “Haven’t seen this many bodies since Team Aqua and Team Magma went at it, but let’s stop messin’ around.”_

_“Freak storm,” Mrs. Greene said through quivering lips as a paramedic checked her vitals. Her left arm was twisted painfully around, but otherwise she was fine if not covered in ash and dirt like everyone and everything else. “I-I don’t know where it came from, or w-why, but it hit last night, a-and…”_

_“Just calm down, ma’am…”_

_“Freak storm, it was…”_

_“I couldn’t see anythin’ but the lightnin’…”_

_“I don’t know what we did to deserve that!”_

_“It just looked like a huge accident…”_

_“Unintended…”_

_“Accidental…”_

_“Pity…”_

_“Sorry…”_

_Sorry. SORRY. Who the hell is_ sorry _for that? The only ones that should’ve been sorry were the legendary pokémon._

_“It wasn’t an accident, it was_ them! _” Al was screaming even as blood dribbled down his chin from the effort. “I saw them with my own eyes! That big one, it looked like Mew but it wasn’t, and it looked right at me with these blood-red eyes and it—it— Jameson!” he cried when he saw a gurney holding his baby brother. JC was unconscious, but even then his face was twisted in pain—or what was left of it anyway. He tried to rush forward but he was pulled back and strapped to a gurney by two paramedics. “Let me go! I have to get to my brother! Let me go! LET GO!”_

_He felt something prick into his wrist and a strange levity washed over him, but it wasn’t enough, was far from enough to wipe those scars from his mind. He still shouted, shouted until he couldn’t spare the energy and was just muttering hoarsely: “I’m not crazy… I know what I saw… I’ll get ‘em back… I’ll kill ‘em for what they did… I’ll…”_

He closed his eyes, pulling on his leather gloves and strapping them tight around his wrists. He couldn’t feel the knife with them on, but he still felt attached to it as he entered the darkness of the woods. Sounds surrounded him, pokémon skittering away from his presence, but they were just small-time and unimportant. He kept down the path, sneakers trekking over crispy leaves and rotting twigs, until he reached the nest. That dustox was walking across the dirt carelessly, lazily scavenging for food, but it noticed Al as he tied his escape rope around his utility belt, then around a thick tree trunk.

 

“Stox?” it snorted, rising from the ground with its wings giving a steady beat. Al dug his sneakers deep into the mud, hands tight around the knife as he moved forward. “Stox-stox-stox!” it chanted as it beat its wings harder, forcing Al backwards, however the rope and his sneakers kept him grounded. Even it had to rest, falling to the ground tiredly, which was when Al took his chance.

 

“You’re messing with the wrong bastard,” he said in a low voice, so low that he heard himself echo in his own mind. He stalked up to the Dustox, staring it right in the eyes, and held up the knife. It expected him to stab it immediately, but he didn’t give it a chance to counter with whatever it had planned, instead continuing: “What happens when you cure a Poison-type?” Again, he didn’t give it time to react before he doused it with some antidote from the pokémart. The dustox cried in pain, falling forward, and Al preyed on it immediately, deftly slicing its wings from its body and earning a stream of translucent blood. The look that it gave him was heartbreaking, but he soothed himself the same way that he had been for longer than he could remember at that point.

 

“It’s for JC…all for JC…”


End file.
